Page 18 of A Magic Deep & Drowning

Maurits. Her tears dried and she rolled over onto her back. What torture it was to discover that she felt anything more for him than passing fancy, that he was more than a diversion from her quiet life. What torture to know what it was to wrap her arms around his solid body, to know the comfort of resting her head against his chest and not being able to again. What torture not knowing what it would feel like to lie with him as man and wife lie, and that some other girl would know, and not her. The thought of lying with Hendrik made her stomach plummet. It had all been so simple before her feelings ruined everything.

She sat up. Perhaps there was another option. She couldn’t stop her marriage, but Hendrik could. What if he were to change his mind about her? What if he heard of her behavior with Maurits? Or something else entirely, something fabricated. What if she made herself so unpleasant that he couldn’t stand the thought of going through with the marriage?

There was still her dowry to consider, which she knew was generous. Would a man, especially a business man such as Hendrik Edema, care enough about his wife’s comportment to forgo a beneficial alliance and sizable dowry?

And then there was her mother. If life under the same roof with Katrina was strained now, what would her mother do when she found out that the brilliant match they had made for her had been broken? Clara threw herself back down on the bed with a sigh. Even the prospect of running her own household now held little appeal if the man of the house was anyone other than Maurits.

Clara allowed herself a few more tears before wiping her nose and sitting up. Perhaps there was no getting Helma back, but Clara owed it to her to at least try to make up for what had happened. She would start there. Then she could worry about Maurits and Hendrik, and the black ball of tangled twine that seemed to be her future.

Carefully opening the window casement, she leaned out and whistled softly into the dusky evening. Would the creature come to her? Holding her breath, she strained to hear the sound of wings. She didn’t have to wait long; a moment later a fan of black and white feathers came to land on the sill.

“Clara?”

Her mother’s voice sounded from the doorway. She narrowed her eyes as Clara hastily closed the window and clasped her hands at her waist. “What are you doing?”

Clara shrugged. “I’m still allowed to sit and think, aren’t I?”

Katrina’s expression suggested that she wished Clara wouldn’t. “Get dressed. Mr. Edema is coming for dinner and he will want to see you. You might as well at least try to look the part of eager bride.”

Clara bit back a groan. An evening with Hendrik, enduring his clumsy attempts at conversation, was the last thing of which she felt capable. And how was she supposed to findHelma if she was expected to sit through an endless dinner? “I can’t dress my hair. Helma always did it for me.”

Katrina pressed her lips, looking as if she wanted to argue. But Clara was right and she knew it. “I’ll send in Nela. She will have to attend to the both of us in the month before you leave.”

Suddenly it all came to Clara. Her mother wanted to be under the same roof with Clara just as little as Clara wanted to share a roof with her. Yes, Katrina might shriek and rail at her for allowing Hendrik to slip through her fingers, but would she really punish Clara by keeping her under lock and key here? There would be other marriage offers, surely there would be with her dowry. And while none of them would be Maurits, they would buy her time to think. To plan.

Clara put on her brightest smile, then immediately moderated it, lest her mother become suspicious. “Yes, Mama,” she said obediently.

Katrina gave her a lingering look, and then swept out, calling for her maid.

Interstitial

Moss maidens are tree spirits that protect the woods. They can read minds and speak without uttering a word, so guard your thoughts when you are in the forest. With bodies covered in moss and lichen, they stand so still that they may be among the very trees you pass by without you being the wiser for their presence. But fear not the moss maidens, for unless you come to the wood with the intention to fell a tree, they have no desire to exact violence on man.

Chapter Twelve

Rain pattered against the windows as Clara inspected her reflection in the mirror. Helma would have been gentle as a dove, but her mother’s maid had plaited and wound her hair so tightly that her head was pounding. The dress, at least, was lovely, with full sleeves slashed to reveal the fine white silk beneath, and a row of little blue bows down the bodice. If only she had somewhere else to wear it instead of downstairs for Hendrik’s benefit.

She scowled. Why had Hendrik come? She supposed there were business matters between her father and Hendrik that must be attended to before the wedding and the transferal of her dowry. Dragging herself downstairs, she followed the sound of voices.

Hendrik was in conversation with her father in the study. Pausing at the doorway, she watched her intended, the earnest set of his chin, how his body was animated with excitement as he explained some scheme involving a new trade route. Clara could just be herself, let her true feelings show, and it would be enough to sour Hendrik on her. Anything beyond that would just be for dramatic effect.

“Ah, my love, there you are,” Hendrik said, coming to her and bowing over her hand. He was more confident every time they met, and now he only flicked his tongue nervously at his lips once or twice as he as straightened. “I have some businessyet to discuss with your father, and then I am at your disposal. I hope that you will honor me with your company on a walk about the grounds while there is still light? A little rain shan’t bother us, shall it?”

He was smiling at her, warm with expectation. Oh, why did he have to look so earnest, so eager to please? Clara took a deep breath. He would be a casualty, but he would recover. He hardly knew her, really, and once he discovered how vain, how selfish and petty she could be, he would have no choice but to distance himself from her and break off the engagement.

She yanked her hand from his light grasp. “It is always business with you! Is this how it will be when I become your wife? Always to be ushered away into some forgotten corner while you scrape and bargain with strange men in our house?” She had been attempting an angry tone, but now she affected an injured air. “Really, Hendrik, how can you be so cruel?”

She watched as his expression transitioned from one of surprise, to dismay, and finally, bewildered hurt. “I... Clara, how can you say such a thing? I only want your happiness. I—”

“No, it is not just my happiness you want,” she said with a sniffle, “but my dowry as well. You play the part of the eager suitor prettily enough, but I know that you only consider me because of my father’s connections and the fortune that will come with my hand.”

From behind the desk, her father was watching her, sharp-eyed, trying to hear what she was saying to elicit such a response from Hendrik.

“Well, of course your dowry was a consideration, but... Clara, you can’t think...” Hendrik was struggling for words, all his anxieties unfolding before his eyes.

Why wouldn’t he stop groveling? Where was his backbone? She cringed at his lack of poise, all the while increasingly disgusted with herself that she could treat him in such a manner when he had never been anything but kind and respectfultoward her. But then she pictured Maurits and his indescribable pull, and deepened her resolve. Was it any worse than shackling Hendrik to a woman who not only didn’t love or respect him, but could never learn to do so in the future? She would never be content unless she knew what it was to love and be loved, and so she would be doing Hendrik a greater kindness by ending this now.

Hendrik took a step toward her and she turned away, her lip twitching as if his very touch disgusted her. He dropped his hand. “Clara, what do you want of me? Only tell me what you want and I shall do it.”

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